Having had the privilege to know Jan and Engela for virtually all my life, I feel that this is a great time to remember Jan in his natural environment under great adventurous times. Jan, I shall always remember this true story you told me here sitting around the kitchen table, many, many, years ago.

A PROPELLER……A PROPELLER…..MY KINGDOM FOR A PROPELLER.
The thing with Jan is that he’s a very friendly guy. He would literally give one of his trousers, as well as a pair of, (if somewhat soiled), jockeys.
His second name is Kemp.
Jan Kemp to be exact.
Living in VOLKSRUST to be specific.
In the “ORANJE VRYSTAAT!!” for those geographical minded readers.
Down to earth, helpful, trustworthy old Jan. Fairly muscular, handsome some may call it, with telltale smiling wrinkles around the eyes. An upright outstanding citizen walking proud and tall.
Ever since childhood days Jan was fascinated by anything that could fly or was remotely connected
to flying be it paper, cardboard or a chicken falling off the local outhouse. If it flew, Jan was there jotting down the cause and effects.
In the end, Jan decided to build a VPZ (volksplane). But a VP with a difference. A VP with VOEMA!! A VP as no other in this universe.
………And he had to have a powerplant! A BIG powerplant! A powerplant with “VOEMA”. A plant with eyeball-flattening acceleration. And of course, a prop, a BIG prop, a prop that could raise the TITANIC!!...literally!
And so the story begins:-
Comes the day the VP is ready, GOLF 1800 fuel injection, belt driven reduction with BIG propeller installed, roaring lustily in the cold July air.
The pre-flight done, all systems go, Jan was up and away climbing like sulfur smelling gas out of a bathtub into the wide blue yonder.
Somewhere between Volksrust and Standerton Jan lost his propeller….. Yessiree…. Gone!!
Totally disappeared ou pel!!, “he said” . . . straight forward like a SCUD missile heading for Bangladesh!
Of course, the golf engine rpm’s went completely off the clock. . . plus ten percent! The only course of action was to cut the motor. Which he did . . . very, very, very, promptly.
Aaaah . . . absolute silence reigned in the cockpit, but for the strange smell originating, as far as his nose could tell, from somewhere between the seat and his flight suit! (. . . reminds me of the story about this guy in a microlite that had to land in a cow pasture . . . right in the middle of the largest cow patty in the history of mankind . . . but wait . . . that’s a totally different story.
Without any engine input (not to mention the obvious absence of a propeller) Jan did the best he could do. “Set up a lovely shallow glide”, the book reads. Fortunately, he had height, so that wasn’t any problem, plus, he had ample landing area as he was over some of the smoothest cornfields in the O.V.S.
With a cool, calm demeanor he circled this way and that way (BOY OH BOY THIS SMELL DOESN’T WANT TO GO AWAY!!!) but there’s a lovely field. . . aaah . . . just a little bit of left rudder . . . like so . . . Yes, okay . . . now let me see . . . HMMMMM . . . !!
“WHAABBA BAMBAA”! The VP lurches and shudders.
Pieces of cowling come flying by! “WHAT the DEVIL was THAT!?” Something is flittering in the wind . . . All is quiet once more. He wipes the sweat from his eyes with shaking hands. His knees keep on jumping uncontrollably on the rudder pedals. He feels the first symptoms of nausea combined with a creeping feeling of disorientation flow to his head. For a moment he hesitates. “Have to keep my wits about me”. The controls respond smoothly. All the air-operated instruments are functioning normally. A decision is called for and is mad expeditiously!
“I gotta get down quick!!”
A textbook approach and landing is executed. A minute’s silence with only a faint engine ticking noise passes while all muscles slowly relax, head rolling back to ease the strain, eyes closed. His hands slip slowly from the joystick.
Stiffly and with wobbling legs, he alights from the VP and makes his way to the business end of the engine . . . yep, sure enough, there where the propeller should be is only a shining smooth drive surface. The flange, bolts, nuts and crush plate have departed for better hunting grounds.
“Hells bells, . . . wonder where that lot went?”, he mutters. He slowly strolls around the cowl, methodically eyeballing the fuselage skin while running a practiced hand over the engine cover.
On closer inspection, he notices pieces of cowling missing. Cracks in the fiber stretch away in a crazy crisscross pattern. Something . . . who knows what . . . has struck the cowling whilst gliding down to mother earth!
Questions race through his mind. . . .Where is the propeller? . . . How did the prop come off?....Where is the drive-flange, bolts, nuts, and crush plate?
Surveying his immediate surroundings he comes to the conclusion that he will have to walk to a road and hitch a lift home. Having tied the VP down with bits and scraps of rope scavenged from under the seat, he glances furtively at the aircraft, heaves a final relieved sigh, takes a thumb rule bearing and heads north.
The next day Jan returned to his VP with a handful of helpers, a promise of “. . . five rand, for the one that finds my propeller” ringing in their ears. He went back home. Feeling dejected and totally out of sorts, the telephone call came as a welcome interruption:-
‘One of the searches found the propeller standing upright in a mealieland about one kilometer distant from the place where you have landed” the voice at the other end informed him, “ . . . better get over here . . ., have a look for yourself!”
So Jan climbed into his bakkie and went over there.
In the middle of a huge corn-field, standing upright, pointing an accusing finger at the sky-god, stood the propeller.
“Like it was planted there . . . for years and years. One would have thought it had grown there, had one not known better!”
Still fastened to the prop hub was the remnants of a drive system. Flange, bolts, washers, crush-plate and nuts, everything, wire locked in position!!
Jan returned home with the propeller clutched under his arm. He gently lay it down on the workbench. One of the blades had a nasty split from the tip of the blade through to the hub. “No salvaging this lot,” he mutters. Turning to the hub he inspects the assembly. Protruding from the drive flange is a circular sliver of metal. “Shouldn’t there be a fair amount of welding material right here at this position?
. . .This is the exact same spot where the flange joins the engine!!!”, he surmises.
Then it dawned on him.
Of course!!
The drive flange had been butt welded, then turned down on a lathe. All that held the flange in position was a 1mm weld fillet!!
That explains the circular sliver left there! Definitely not enough metal there to keep a rip-roaring propeller at bay!! They probably botched the welding and then decided to clean up their act by turning it down on the lathe!!! . . . NOBODY SAID A WORD . . . TOOK MY MONEY WITH A SMILE AND A HANDSHAKE!!”
Monday found Jan at the engineering works where the shoddy work was done. It took a lot of persuasion by the foreman to cool Jan down. (Try talking to a maniac swinging a 6ft prop around his head while bellowing his discontent at the unfortunate soul that had done the welding!!)
Having stated his case in no uncertain terms and leaving nobody in doubt of what ‘sleazy low-life’ they were, he returned home for closer scrutiny on the shabby remains of the prop. Cold shivers ripple up and down his spine. The tick in his eye takes a quantum leap. Could it be? This paint mark on the blade?
“Looks precisely like the VP’s paintwork!!”
Stepping out onto his driveway (The VP had been duly collected and deposited on the lawn in front of his home) eh found scuff marks on the fuselage of the VP.
You guessed it! The damage to the propeller corresponds exactly to the scuff marks on the cowling!
In the end, the only deduction Jan could make was that he had struck the propeller AFTER it had departed from his plane, whilst spiraling down on it’s a journey to earth.
One could theorize of what the odds are of having, first of all, lost one’s propeller and then of striking it, on the nose, in flight, while being in an intensely precarious situation. My guess is:- once only in the history of aviation past, present and for many a year to come!
Since then, Jan has had a new drive flange made, has purchased a new prop, and is enjoying his freedom of the skies over the Free State. He has never looked back on his experience, except for the odd look that develops on his face, sometimes, when hangar talks turn to the subject of propellers . . .

Jan, I have lost a great friend and will miss your tales and adventures tremendously... Rest in peace until we meet again
Piet and Bets de Necker

That was not the question, Spoke Eagle asked about a climb or descend, but there is also no evidence that whatever turn was being conducted was coordinated. I would expect most aircraft to have some flight configuration, whereby, if the tank is low, it would unport. Hence one of the pre landing check would be fuel to be drawn from the fullest tank.

His son said the engine snagged. Maybe the fuel tank un ported in the climbing turn.
Jim, you know these aircraft best. Does it un port in climb or desend?

Spokers, I can't add much to what has already been said. A turn in itself won't cause unporting - however unbalanced flight at any time could do so. And obviously a deliberate sideslipping could also do so.

Also a nose high attitude is unlikely to affect fuel flow. On mot aircraft the port in slightly towards the rear of the tank, so unporting would be more likely to occur in a nose down attitude.

I read on Google the Tomahawks have over effective rudders because Piper used an airfoil that would stall hard and spin easy to help CFI's during spin training. They also suffered twice the average stall/spin accidents. I'd rather not fly one IMHO.